


Ready to Comply

by WhinyWingedWinchester



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremis (Marvel), F/F, F/M, Hand-wavy science and medicine, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, No Thanos, Not A Fix-It, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Protective Bucky Barnes, Psychological Torture, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Super Soldier Serum, Tony is the Technician, Very Very Slow Burn, Violence, Wanda Maximoff is not a good person, Winter Soldier As A Seperate Personality, Winter is not impressed with Steve, mentions of - Freeform, not wanda maximoff friendly, split personality, winteriron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhinyWingedWinchester/pseuds/WhinyWingedWinchester
Summary: Tony Stark closed his eyes with a sigh in the pitch black of an abandoned bunker in Siberia, and opened them again with a scream in a fully operational HYDRA lab, a familiar face smiling down at him, his entire body wracked with unending pain.“Hey Tony. We’ve got some work to do, huh?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Civil-War WinterIron ~  
> This is not a fix-it, not at all.  
> This is about consequences and learning to live with them and what they've caused. 
> 
> As always - a thank you to my darling UmbraeCalamitas x
> 
> So long as my muse co-operates this will update weekly :) (I have 6 chapters written already)

It was cold. Too cold.

No matter how much he tried to focus on anything else, on trying to move the fingers frozen to the metal of the suit or the toes he could no longer feel, even reciting Pi to as high as he could remember - which was pretty fucking high - … nothing helped. He was freezing slowly, so slowly, and he couldn’t stop it. 

Rogers - and it was Rogers now, never Steve or Cap again - had smashed the arc reactor in his suit into so much glass and twisted metal that Tony could  _ feel _ the pieces that had pierced his skin through the fabric of his clothes under the suit. And doing so had severed his contact not only with FRIDAY, but also with the suit itself. After all, what good was a robotic suit of armor without its battery?

_ Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you? _

Just a man, Rogers _. _ Just a man in a tin suit with frostbite and more injuries than he could list.

The shield and that goddamned arm were the only things in his rapidly diminishing line of sight. He’d yelled and screamed at the empty room for what felt like hours before giving it up as a lost cause. Tony wasn’t stupid, not by any means or any definition. He knew that the quinjet Rogers and Barnes had arrived in would have returned on auto-pilot back to the compound the second he lost contact with FRIDAY and the SOS went out. Because Tony was a paranoid bastard about any more SHIELD/HYDRA agencies getting their hands on his beautiful tech. T’Challa was the only other person who would’ve had some kind of transportation - and reason -  to follow them, and take them home.

And fuck him for it. Goddamned traitor to everything Tony and T’Chaka had worked towards.

His chest had burned at first, as the exposed element from the reactor had come into direct contact with his skin. Then it had gone numb - more numb than it normally was, at any rate. He had little feeling where the old reactor had sat in his chest, more metal and artificial pieces holding his fragile chest together. A fragile chest that had just had the full force of a super soldier’s strength slam a vibranium shield into it. 

So yeah. Tony wasn’t stupid. He knew he wouldn’t be walking out of here. But somewhere, deep in the back of his mind he’d held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone would realise he hadn’t come home. Maybe Vision would stop moping over Wanda’s inevitable betrayal of his trust and realise Tony’s lab was empty. Maybe Natasha would feel bad for being a double-crossing, backstabbing  _ bitch _ and realise that Tony had missed the debrief. 

_ Maybe  _ someone who wasn’t a fifteen year old kid in a spider suit or a recently paralysed Air Force Colonel would give a shit about Tony Stark. 

_ Maybe _ someone would still be in the compound to receive the SOS.

… And maybe there really were fairies and unicorns, and he hadn’t just been betrayed by the people he’d thought of as a family for the last few years of his life. 

“You’re a fucking moron, Stark,” he berated himself quietly as night began to fall over the bunker. Nights in Siberia were colder than Tony knew he had any possible chance of surviving. Temperatures well below -80 degrees Fahrenheit were the norm. “And now you’re gonna die for it in the dark and in the cold,” he muttered. “Typical.”

He’d had nightmares almost every night since New York, since the Chitauri and the nuke and the wormhole. Dreams of dying cold and alone in the dark emptiness of space. And as the last of the sun’s light slipped below the horizon and the dark settled in, he wondered what the difference between Siberia and space really was.

Tony Stark closed his eyes with a sigh in the pitch black of an abandoned bunker in Siberia, and opened them again with a scream in a fully operational HYDRA lab, a familiar face smiling down at him, his entire body wracked with unending pain. 

“Hey Tony. We’ve got some work to do, huh?” 

**//** **RtC** **\\\**   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd post this one :)  
> But from here it moves to a weekly update.

  **//** **RtC** **\\\**

Steve stared out the window at the lush green of the Wakandan jungles that surrounded the palace. T’Challa’s country was beautiful, and Steve knew that Tony would have a field day with the technology.

Or… he would have, if he’d ever been able to join them here. Steve sighed and leaned a hand against the glass, eyes prickling as he thought of his teammates still locked in the RAFT. Tony had truly gone too far this time, and though he regretted his actions against him in that bunker… he couldn’t regret his reasons. Bucky was innocent. He hadn’t been in control of himself when he killed Howard and Maria. And Tony’s reaction had been the exact reason why he’d hesitated to tell the genius the truth about their deaths.

And now. Now Tony was back at the compound, or the Tower, licking his wounds and hiding from the world, the rest of his teammates were locked away and Bucky had gone back under the ice.

_I can’t trust my own mind._

“You know,” he glanced over at the young King standing beside him. “If they find out he’s here, they’ll come for him.”

T’challa nodded at him and turned his gaze back out to the jungle beyond. “Let them try,” he said quietly. “There is little to be done now, in any case. The Accords will not be stopped, not even by this… hiccup.”

“Pretty big hiccup, your Highness,” Steve said wearily. “I gotta ask, did the quinjet - uh, Stark’s jet, I mean… did it return to the compound?” T’Challa’s silence was answer enough and Steve sighed. “Well that’s a pain.”

“You wish to rescue your imprisoned teammates?” he asked, and Steve looked over at him in surprise.

“Yeah, I do. It’s not right, leaving them locked up in the RAFT like that. Clint and Scott have families, and Wanda’s just a kid.”

T’Challa frowned at that, but he smoothed his expression out so quickly that Steve had to wonder if he’d actually frowned at all. “I will lend you a jet. You may leave here at sundown,” he said eventually, after several long - and slightly awkward - minutes had passed. “You will rescue your team and return the jet to me. We shall discuss options when you return. You will do this with no casualties, Captain, or Wakanda’s borders will be closed to you.”

He left before Steve had a chance to do more than blink stupidly for a moment, calling out a belated ‘thank you’ to the empty room. He took the time until sundown to get his erratic thoughts under control, to pen a letter to Tony and to plan out his infiltration of the RAFT. He’d seen the blueprints a few times while it was being developed, and thanks to his eidetic memory, he could recall them perfectly. So he knew the easiest path in, and out. Knew roughly where his team would have been taken and where the guard posts would be.

His hands twitched for the familiar weight of the shield, and he regretted his impulsive decision to drop it in the bunker. God only knew what Tony would do with it. Melt it down, he supposed, repurpose it into something. A suit probably. Steve smiled a bit at that as he followed the Dora Milaje to the hangar that evening. T’Challa had given him a pair of vibranium enhanced gloves to wear, as they weren’t sure what kind of weaponry the guards on the RAFT would be carrying. It wasn’t his shield, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing at all. He only wished that Bucky was with him.

“Hey Cap. Need a hand?” Steve almost cricked his neck he turned it so fast to the direction that voice had come from. Natasha was leaning against the jet with a neutral look on her face, arms crossed and her Black Widow suit torn and dirty. He knew he looked no better, not really. The usually meticulously upkept Captain America uniform was ripped in several places, stained with his, Bucky’s and Tony’s blood from the day before.

And didn’t he push that thought from his mind faster than anything else.

“Nat,” he smiled at her, faltering only a little when she didn’t smile back. “It’s good to see you. I’ll be honest,” he ran a nervous hand through his hair when her expression still didn’t shift. “I uh, I wasn’t expecting to see you again any time soon.”

“Clint,” was all she said, turning away from him and walking aboard the small jet, the Dora Milaje that had been standing to the sides completely unnoticed, followed her aboard.

“Move, Captain,” the leader of the small group he’d been following said gruffly, punctuating her impatience with a sharp prod from her spear. “We do not have all night for you to stand here and ponder the workings of your own internal universe.”

The rest of the Dora Milaje smirked at him as they pushed past to board the jet, confident in Steve’s desire to rescue his team as evidence enough that he’d simply follow them aboard. They were right. He sighed and rubbed at tired eyes before he followed them at a quick pace. Natasha was already strapped into one of the bench seats along the side, an unknown woman at the jet’s controls. Steve knew Natasha well enough by this point to know when she wasn’t in a mood to talk, and that she was so far _past_ that point that he was honestly too nervous to even look at her again.

The flight to the RAFT was silent. The Dora Milaje didn’t speak either amongst themselves or to Steve and Natasha. Steve passed the hour and fifteen minutes by alternating between thinking back over the fight in the bunker, and imagining all the ways it _could_ have gone. Ways in which Tony understood and accepted that Bucky hadn’t been responsible for his actions that night. HYDRA had pulled the trigger - Bucky had been their gun. He’d been as much a victim as Howard and Maria. Howard, who Steve remembered with a combination of fondness and exasperation, and Maria… a woman he’d never met, but who Tony had loved more fiercely than he ever would have said the eccentric billionaire was capable of loving _anyone._

Steve shook the weird feeling that line of thought gave him away, and focused on his mission instead. Rescue his team. Zero casualties. Return to Wakanda. Return to Bucky.

 **//** **RtC** **\\\**

The mission was a disaster.

As soon as Steve had broken the collar off Wanda’s neck, she had lost control of her powers; the backlash from them being bound had annihilated the RAFT. The jet had been lucky to escape intact; the team protected only by a fluke of Wanda’s abilities. They rode the entire way back to Wakanda in almost complete silence, the only sound being the hum of the engines and Wanda’s occasional muffled sob from where she sat, strapped into a small seat in the corner. The Dora Milaje had been reluctant to let her back on board at all, and had only agreed to do so if she wore a set of silver bracelets to keep her powers mostly subdued.

“Her comfort is not our concern,” their leader had said to Steve, her voice as cold as ice. “She just killed over 126 innocent people. Your team were the only criminals being held there at this time.”

Steve hadn’t had the energy to argue.

Natasha refused to even look in his direction, and hadn’t yet spoken a word to Clint. She sat up the front of the jet with the warriors, and acted as though they didn’t exist.

Scott and Sam were silent, both seeming to be lost in their own thoughts. Steve had tried to talk to them but they’d both just either ignored him or not wanted to answer, so Steve let them be.

But Clint… Clint he was worried about. The archer was pale and withdrawn, muttering over and over about betrayal and lies, about family not being truth… he had Steve worried that maybe being in the RAFT had damaged his mind. It had only been three days, but there was every chance that Clint had been tortured or hurt in that time. Steve knew well what the enemy could do to a man in three days.

So they sat in silence until the jet landed smoothly on the airstrip in Wakanda. As one, the Dora Milaje stood and moved to the back of the jet, Natasha amongst them. Wanda was roughly jerked to her feet as the rest of the team unfastened their seatbelts and hurried to follow them off the jet.

“All I asked, Captain Rogers, was for no more deaths at the hands of your team.” T’Challa’s voice echoed around the hangar bay and Steve winced at how _pissed_ the young King sounded. “And yet, to rescue four people, you have sacrificed the lives of over one hundred and twenty. Not criminals like your teammates, but innocent men and women doing nothing more nefarious than the jobs they were paid to do. Officers and nurses, guards and cooks.”

“King T’Challa, if I may be excused?” Natasha’s voice was soft and respectful as she interrupted, and T’Challa simply nodded at her as he approached the group.

“Of course, Widow,” he said politely. “Shuri is awaiting you in medical. Okoye and Nakia will assist you.” Natasha gave a small nod and limped away. Steve hadn’t even noticed she was hurt.

T’Challa’s unfriendly gaze turned back to them as Natasha exited the hangar, supported now by a Dora Milaje on each side. “I did not think my request to be so unachievable, Captain.” Steve’s stomach clenched with guilt and he swallowed hard. Licking dry lips and stepping forward to answer, Steve barely had the chance to do more than draw breath to speak, when Clint interrupted.

“Maybe if Stark’s little lackeys hadn’t put a suppression collar on Wanda’s neck the second we got there, she wouldn’t have exploded like that,” he spat, and Steve could see the actual _rage_ in his eyes as he leant heavily against Scott’s side. “Ain’t our fault at all.”

“I see,” T’Challa said softly. “You are, therefore, incredibly fortunate that I am allowing you to remain in my country. It is only at the encouragement of the Accords Security Council that this is the case. They know that we possess the power and technology to contain you if required. Something the rest of the world sorely lacks.” T’Challa leaned against his jet, arms crossed and a distasteful look on his face – as though he’d smelt something foul. Steve felt the phantom throbbing of a migraine again.

“The Accords? How do they affect us when we refused to sign?” Scott’s voice was tired and hoarse sounding, and Steve glanced over at him, sighing at the way that Clint was glaring up at Scott. “I don’t understand,” he looked over at T’Challa now, open confusion on his face. “I thought that when we refused to sign, that meant that the Accords couldn’t control us?”

Steve twitched nervously as T’Challa’s calculating gaze fell on him, and the King sighed. “Mr Lang,” he said gently, never taking his eyes off Steve. “Did you read the Accords?” When Scott shook his head, T’Challa looked over at the rest of the group. “Did any of you gathered here read the entirety of the Accords, or did you simply listen to the Captain? Do you _understand_ what it is you’ve chosen to ignore? What it is you were _really_ fighting your friends over?” More negative answers, and Steve heard as T’Challa muttered something unfriendly in Xhosa under his breath.

“I would advise you all take the time to read over the Accords. There will be a copy on the tablet I have left for each of you on your beds. You are not permitted to leave the wing you are in, nor are you permitted to go further than the walls around it in the gardens. Miss Maximoff, you are not allowed to remove those bracelets. You are not permitted to use your powers here. We will know if you do, and you will be harshly punished and immediately sent to the Council for action. And you, Captain,” he glared at Steve. “You are not permitted in the Cryo storage chamber.” He waved his hand and sighed. “You are not prisoners, but you are not welcome guests.” T’Challa pushed himself off the jet and stalked over to the hangar door, graceful as the Panther his tribe was named after. “If you leave my borders, you will not be allowed back in. You will be at the mercy of a world that fears you,” he said over his shoulder and walked out.

Scott shifted his grip on a snarling Clint, and shuffled over to Steve. “I think I’m gonna go have a shower and read that document,” he said quietly, and passed Clint over to Steve’s hands. “I think there’s been a miscommunication somewhere about what we were all actually fighting for.”

Steve could only watch as Scott walked slowly away, arms wrapped around his waist and eyes trained on the ground. Clint was leaning more and more on Steve as his legs seemed to just give out from underneath him. Sam avoided Wanda’s outstretched hand with a nimble step away, choosing instead to hurry over to Steve.

“You can take Clint back with you, right? I’m gonna catch up with Lang.”

“Goddamned Stark and his fucking prison,” Clint muttered darkly under his breath as they followed Lang, Sam and the Dora Milaje they were speaking quietly to through the palace. “Set us up to take the fucking fall at the airport. Lied to Sam on the RAFT. He told us - ” Clint’s voice cut out with a pained grunt as Steve lifted him bodily into a fireman’s carry to go up the stairs to their designated wing, “ – told Sam he was goin’ as a friend, the fucking liar.”

Steve sighed. “It wasn’t completely his fault, Clint.” But Clint either wasn’t listening or didn’t want to hear it. He just shook his head and ignored Steve’s words.

It had been, quite possibly, one of the worst weeks of Steve’s life. He’d lost Peggy, lost _whatever_ it was that had been slowly growing between he and Sharon, lost Bucky to the ice again and Tony…

He’d beaten Tony down and walked away. He knew that Tony would’ve made sure to have an escape from the bunker, regardless of the state of the suit, so he wasn’t worried about that. But he’d seen the betrayal and the heartbreak on his friends face as he stared up at Steve, wondering if he was going to slam the shield through his exposed neck.

Instead, Steve had gone for the one part of Tony that he knew still fuelled the man’s nightmares. He’d aimed at the arc reactor and smashed it into nothing more than shards of blue tinted glass.

The Dora Milaje that had been leading them through the palace came to a stop in front of a large black door with no visible handle or pin pad.

“You will stay here. Leave, and Wakanda will be closed to you,” she said. Steve felt like a bug under her shoe as she glared at all of them. “Our King has seen fit to give you the basics. Your kitchen will be replenished once a week. You will cook, and clean for yourselves.” She clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear that left Scott nodding and smiling. She pressed one hand to the middle of the door and it lit up around her fingers in spiralling yellow and purple lines before clicking open.

Without another word, she pushed the door open and gestured for them to move through. Wanda slipped through first, though the warrior woman at the door grasped her arm and whispered something to her that left Wanda pale and shaking before she moved away again. Sam sighed and ducked his head as he walked through after Scott, leaving Steve alone in the hallway with Clint over his shoulder.

“Make no mistake Captain,” The Dora Milaje glared at him, and Steve felt a small shiver run down his spine at the ice in her big brown eyes. “You are not wanted here, and one mistake is all it will take. Your area is monitored. We know you are used to this level of surveillance. We know of Stark’s AI that would guard his tower. What a pity,” she shifted her glare to Clint and then back to Steve, “that it could not protect him from the enemy within.”

“Bitch,” Clint growled as the door clicked shut behind them. “She knows nothing about us _or_ about Stark.”

“Clint,” Steve sighed. “You’ve gotta be real careful what you say now, alright? We’re being watched.”

There was a disgruntled huff from his back and Clint fell silent. Steve set him carefully on the small couch in the main room they’d walked into and looked around as he stretched his back. The entire room was the size of the bedroom that Tony had given him at the compound. There was the small couch that Clint was now sitting on, an even smaller table in front of it. A tidy kitchen with a few stools lining the bench in lieu of a table, and seven doors leading off a hallway.

“Those are the bedrooms, laundry and bathroom,” Wanda said softly. “There are no enuites showers, only a toilet in our rooms.” She shuffled her feet and bit her lip, and Steve reached out to pull her into a hug. “I am _so_ sorry Steve,” she said, voice soft and muffled in his chest. “I-I did not mean to kill those people!”

“I know, honey,” Steve whispered, and kissed her hair. Wanda’s powers needed training. “Hopefully, Vision will get here soon and he can help you train them a bit more. Work _with_ the suppression instead of against it?”

“I do not _want_ to be suppressed!”

Steve ran a soothing hand down her back and hushed her. “I know, okay? I know. But we’re here, and this is just… look, I’m sure in a little while they’ll let you take them off, alright. It won’t be forever, Wanda.” He very carefully didn’t promise her though. Steve knew their position here in Wakanda was tenuous at best, and anything that made the Wakandan’s feel safer about them being here was in their best interest to agree with. So he comforted the young woman in his arms as best he could and tried not to think too far ahead.

He had a very bad feeling that nothing was going to just ‘go back to normal’, no matter what Clint kept saying.

“Clint,” he called out over Wanda’s shoulder, “do you need medical?” The archer shook his head.

“Just bruises from the airport, Cap. I’ve had worse.” Steve bit down on another sigh, and looked out the window behind Wanda.

It wouldn’t be long and they’d be home again.

Steve knew Tony would be angry, would be hurt… but he wouldn’t keep them from their homes, from their families. He wondered if Tony had already received his letter. Steve breathed in the strange smell of burnt oranges that Wanda always smelt of, and let his chin rest on her head. They just had to make it through the next few weeks, and let all this blow over and give Tony time to calm down.

It wouldn’t be long, and the Avengers would be a family again.

 **//** **RtC** **\\\**

_Tony,_

_I'm glad you're back at the compound. I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine._

_I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn't._

_I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry._

_Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do._

_That's all any of us should..._

_So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us - if you need me - I'll be there._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything in bold is being spoken in Russian.  
> My Russian is passable, but not enough that I was happy to use it, so I cheated :D

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

_“Recording begins  April twenty-ninth. Time is zero five hundred. Subject Echo. Name: Stark, Anthony Edward. Biological age is forty-six. Height is one hundred seventy-four centimeters. Weight is 76 kilograms. Subject noted to be hypothermic, dehydrated, malnourished and suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Subject was found in Siberian bunker Seven-Nine-Delta-Echo-Alpha._

_“Subject has numerous injuries, lacerations on his internal organs and several broken bones. Complete list of injuries reads: two cracked lumbar vertebrae, one broken and six cracked ribs, bruised mandible, snapped ulna on the left side, damaged metacarpals on both hands. Massive invasive wound across the sternum and internal debris from the power source casing and element contained. Wound directly matches vibranium shield recovered at the scene. Subject also has frostbite affecting six fingers, nine toes and nose, weakened vision in both eyes and total loss of hearing in left ear. Subject was alone in temperature of minus seventy-nine degrees Fahrenheit for approximately fourteen hours._

_“Subject will receive the first dose of  Virus E to stabilise the internal support before Serum S is administered. Original Subject’s DNA has been retained and used. Winter Soldier project, Version Seven, beginning April twenty-ninth at zero five-thirty. Recording terminated at zero five ten.”_

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

_“Recording begins April thirtieth, time is sixteen twenty-two. Subject Echo, referred to previously as Stark, Anthony Edward, has received three infusions of Virus E. Internal and external injuries have been healed completely. Recovery progress recorded at an unforeseen rate. Estimated time of recovery after final infusion was less than two hours. Previous damage to subject’s organs from alcohol abuse, drug use and various injuries has been eliminated. Subject confirmed successful uplink with basic AI while under influence of heavy sedation, and was able to access the internet within the restricted parameters. Extremis is now operating in Silent Mode._

_“Subjects physical aspects have undergone noticable changes as expected. Biological age now registering with DNA testing and visual confirmation at twenty-six. Height now reads as one hundred seventy-five centimeters. Weight has stabilised at 73 kilograms. Subject is ideal size for infiltration. Mental capacity operating at max. Extremis is fully integrated and firewalls erected. Data input and overflow maintained and partitioned. Virus coding stable._

_“Winter Soldier Project, Version Seven, Stage One - Successful._

_“Permission received to begin Stage Two. Subject will receive Serum S in eight doses over the next eight hours. Original Subject - Buchanan, James Barnes. Code Name, Asset. Current Status is Lost. To be retrieved at any cost for comparison to Subject Echo, and recalibration. Asset is to be partnered with Subject. Asset’s prosthetic arm was recovered at Bunker with Subject._

_“Stage Two beginning April thirtieth, at seventeen hundred. Recording terminated at sixteen thirty.”_

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

“Do you know who you are?”

“I’m Tony Stark! Let me fucking go! Whatever it is you want, I’m not doing it! You know that!”

“Wrong answer, sweet boy. We’ve already begun.”

“What the hell? Begun what!? Why’re you calling me that? Why are _you_ here? Why am I here?”

“Answer’s aren’t necessary, my dear.”

“Uh, yeah they are, asshole! Stop calling me weird shit and lemme go! What’ve you done to me? They’re going to be looking for me, and you know it!”

“Who, exactly will be looking for you?”

“My team! My friends!”

“And what friends would those be? The woman who left you when she couldn’t handle you anymore? Your now paralysed best friend who barely speaks to you outside of business? Tell me, when was the last time your dear _Rhodey-bear_ visited you for a reason the military didn’t give him?”

“What - no, he… he’s busy! Goddamnit, you _know_ all this! Just let me-  ”

“Or do you perhaps mean your team? Do you mean the android that can barely tolerate your presence? Or you, his? Or, could you possibly mean the good Captain - who beat you and left you in our bunker alone, in a suit damaged beyond repair to die - and his merry band of star-struck sheep?”

“No...someone… someone’s…”

“Surely, you don’t mean SpiderMan. It would just be awful to expect a fifteen year old child to come after you.”

“You’re lying… someone’s looking. I’m… I’m _Tony Stark_. I can’t just - just disappear!”

“And why not? Your name has just done more damage than good lately, hasn’t it? Especially according to your beloved team. My poor boy. I’m going to take care of you now. You’re mine, and I will protect you.”

“Fuck you! I don’t need you!”

“Yes. You do. No one is coming for you, sweet boy. You’re mine now.”

“No! Like hell I am! Let me go! _LET ME GO!_ ”

**_“You may begin, Doctor.”_ **

**_“Recalibration Process, Stage One. Subject Echo is to be awake and responsive. Sedation will occur afterwards to monitor recovery processes. Initiating Protocol Tango-Whiskey-Sierra, Version Nine point Three. Please stand clear, sir.”_ **

“Scream away, my darling boy. You’ll break eventually. It’s going to be so beautiful to watch you get there. **_Call me when the session is complete._ **”

**_“Of course.”_ **

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

“Any news from Nat or Laura, Cap?”

Steve looked up from his tablet and shook his head, feeling his heart sink at the dejected look the archer had on his face. Every day it was the same thing. They’d broken the team out of the RAFT two months ago. Natasha had disappeared into Medical and reemerged three weeks later missing a leg and with an attitude that made T’Challa’s Dora Milaje look friendly.

She’d stayed with them for a week. And it had been the absolute worst week Steve had ever had. Natasha had manipulated the truth out of him about Siberia faster than he realised. A few random questions every day, always seemingly unconnected.

It wasn’t until she was gone that he realised he’d been played.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice was high and panicked. “GUYS! Get in here!”

Steve dropped his tablet on the bench and sprinted out to the small living room where Sam was sitting on the edge of the couch, his face pale and hands trembling. Wanda sat beside him, a small shaking ball radiating misery, and Scott was on the floor - as far from the rest of them as he could physically be while still being able to see the TV.

“Sam?”

“Shut up and sit down, Steve,” Sam said softly. Taken aback at the cold tone in his friends voice, Steve did as he was told, and plopped himself onto the floor by Sam’s feet, Clint at his side.

“What’s - ”

“Shut _up_ Clint!” Sam turned the volume of the TV up to drown out Clint’s bitter mutterings, and Steve felt a sudden heavy nausea settle in his stomach.

Pepper Potts, as immaculate as ever, and James Rhodes - in a very unmistakable black wheelchair and full military dress - were on a small platform out the front of Stark Tower.

 _“Thank you for joining us.”_ Pepper’s voice was soft, but strong. Steve could see the tightness around her eyes and mouth though. She was stressed, and fighting not to show it.

_“I wish this were under better circumstances. It’s with a heavy heart, that we today have to announce Tony Stark has been officially reported missing. We are still searching, of course, and we ask anyone at all with any information to step forward.”_

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

_“Recording begins December fourth at nineteen hundred hours. Subject Echo is being transferred from Cryo Storage to recalibration chamber. Subject was successfully integrated with Virus E, also known as Extremis, and Serum S eight months ago. Subject has had three unsuccessful recalibration attempts thus far, before being moved to Cryo Storage to await further experimentation._

_“Today’s attempt will focus on the Amygdala. Our research into the work done on the original Asset showed damage to Amygdala removed or suppressed base emotions of love, anger and sexual desire. Asset became focused and less prone to random bouts of rage._

_“Subject Echo, henceforth referred to as Technician, will receive concentrated short bursts of electric stimulation to Amygdala, and carefully observed afterwards for an as yet undecided period of time. Technician's main Handler will be present._

_“Further reading into the process of calibrating the Asset to HYDRA’s specifications report that the constant changing of handler’s was problematic. Without trust, there was no foundation for a working relationship with the Asset. Technician’s handler has been enhanced, and will be Technician’s only handler._

_“It is our opinion that Technician will not be broken easily, but handler remains positive. Director agrees with Handler, and has handed over authority of Technician’s scientific and medical decisions to them._

_“Technician has now been thawed successfully and will be moved to recalibration chamber Alpha. Recording ends December fourth two thousand sixteen at nineteen oh seven hours.”_

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

_“Recording begins November twenty-first, two thousand and eighteen at zero hundred hours. Conversation between Technician and Handler. Lead Scientist and Doctor present. Technician has been fully calibrated. Full scale testing of Extremis and Technician’s capabilities complete.”_

“Who are you?”

“I am Technician.”

“Please try Russian commands, sir. We’re tracking Extremis now as it comes online.”

**_“Do you understand me?”_ **

**_“The Technician understands, Sir.”_ **

“Extremis now fully active. Partitions and firewalls holding. He’s… it’s amazing. His brain is lighting up like a Christmas tree, but there’s no physical signs. It’s absolutely remarkable, sir.”

“Shall I proceed with questioning?”

“Please. And in Russian, if you can. Extremis is now reading that as his default language.”

“Of course. Beginning now. **_What is your purpose?”_ **

**_“I have no purpose but to follow. I follow Sir’s orders. Technician belongs to Sir.”_ **

**_“Very good, darling boy. Now. Who are the Avengers?”_ **

**_“A small group of terrorists that oppose HYDRA’s views. Target levels vary. Current location Wakanda.”_ **

**_“Who is Wanda Maximoff?”_ **

**_“Maximoff, Wanda Django. Twin to Pietro Django, deceased. Orphaned at ten. Joined HYDRA under Doctor List. Threat level is ten. Mental manipulation. Technician cannot be manipulated. Threat level of Maximoff to Technician is zero. She is non-augmented physically. Current location, Wakanda.”_ **

**_“Well done. Now, who is Tony Stark?”_ **

**_“Stark, Anthony Edward. Deceased. Reported missing in April, two-thousand and sixteen. Confirmed dead January third, two-thousand and seventeen. Former CEO, owner and developer of Stark Industries, the world’s leading technological developers. Creator and pilot of armour known as IronMan.”_ **

**_“Who is Steven Rogers?”_ **

**_“Rogers, Steven Grant. Threat level seven. To be captured alive if possible. Recipient of original serum developed by Erskine in nineteen forty-three. Frozen for sixty-six years. Current location Wakanda.”_ **

**_“Very good. And now. Who is the Asset?”_ **

**_“The Asset is to be mine. Technician will capture Asset and subdue. Threat level is ten. Asset is to be paired with Technician to further HYDRA’s work. Asset’s current location is Wakanda, CryoStasis Chamber. Asset is offline.”_ **

“It’s incredible. He’s perfect.”

“Of course he is. With you and I leading his team, how could he be anything but perfect. I believe we’re done here. Prepare a lab for him. I want to see what he can do now with the AI programming.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I escort him down?”

“No. I will present him to the Director and we’ll go from there. You’ve done fantastic work, Doctor Cho, and your recordings of every session have been invaluable as we move forward. We are very pleased with you.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you. Please give the Director my best.”

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences.

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

“You are to be conditionally pardoned, and sent back to America,” T’Challa said calmly. “You will be publicly signing the New Accords before you are allowed to set foot on American soil. Refusal to sign now will lead to immediate incarceration.”

“Yeah, yeah we heard it the first ten times,” Clint mumbled. T’Challa didn’t even spare him a glance, his focus solely on the tablet in his hands.

“Wakanda’s borders are henceforth closed to you. You are not permitted to return under any circumstances without direct, personal permission from myself or from Princess Shuri. You will be further debriefed on the countries prohibiting your entry, and the rest of the strict stipulations for your return upon arrival and the signing of the New Accords. You will now step aboard the jet, and await your departure.”

T’Challa turned and walked away, his Dora Milaje flanking him on either side, without another word. The King had been cold and distant with them ever since the press conference that Pepper Potts and Rhodes gave when they first announced Tony missing almost three years ago. His death was formally announced about a year later and their position in Wakanda had been on thin ice since.

Nothing had been the same for them since that day. Steve could still remember the press conference to announce the death of Tony Stark and the end of an era. The entire world had grieved his loss, whether they knew him personally, as Iron Man or simply as a well-liked celebrity. There had been a few who had stepped out in celebration at the news, but for the most part, the world had mourned the loss of an icon.

Even a few of what Tony had so fondly called the ‘ _weekly badguy roundup_ ’ had made appearances to express their grief at the loss of a worthy adversary. Their crimes had largely stopped, and the most high-profile of them - like Von Doom - had retired altogether. It was that action that had in large part, caused the three year delay in their pardons.

The announcement of Tony being missing had caused a massive rift between the Avengers. Natasha had placed herself firmly on Team Iron Man - the media had dubbed their fight at the airport ‘The Superhero Civil War’ and divided them into Teams Cap and Iron Man - and she had been a firm fixture at Pepper’s side for every conference, interview and candid photo since. The loss of her leg and the obvious damage to her spine had done nothing to stop her ability to work, and she had been busy behind the scenes. Steve wondered often about the nature of her relationship with Pepper these days, as neither woman was ever seen without the other by her side.

Scott had left them the same afternoon that Tony was declared missing. He’d slipped out during the commotion, and they’d not seen him again until a small news segment announced the return of Ant-Man. He’d signed the Accords, formally apologised to Pym Technology - and especially to Hope Van Dyne - and agreed to work on a probationary status with the newly coined ‘Sentinels’.

Natasha had led the conference announcing the new team’s line up and name. _“We will not cling to the past, to the ideals and name of a misguided group of dangerous vigilantes. The Sentinels exist for the people. We do not Avenge. We protect and stand with and for the people of Earth, not overtop of them like Gods. The Sentinels are here for you. We are funded and covered by the New Accords, and act always within their guidelines. In the short amount of time the Sentinels have been recognised as an active group under the Accords, there have been a dozen successful missions, with four civilian casualties between them and less than half a million dollars in damage.”_

They were smart, better run, well funded and under incredible leadership. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if that was what the Avengers could have been if they’d been more of a team and less… less trying to force themselves into a family mold.

Vision had never come to Wakanda. He’d appeared silently at every conference standing by Rhodes’ side, a firm and unmoving presence. Wanda had convinced herself that it was a programming thing, that Tony had done something to the android to cause him to avoid her. Clint agreed with her, but Steve and Sam had the opinion it probably had more to do with the nine floors she’d sent him through at the compound.

“Mister Rogers, it would be in your best interest to pay attention.” The sharp, unfriendly voice of the lawyer representing the former Avengers cut through the melancholic train of his thoughts and Steve sighed. He’d barely noticed that the jet they’d been sitting on had taken off, or landed some hours ago, stumbling along behind the others into the meeting room they were now sitting in.

“It’s Captain Rogers,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s really not,” the lawyer quipped back, and Steve finally raised his head to look at him. He was a small man, with a balding head and piercing blue eyes. Steve felt the tiniest thrill of nerves skitter down his spine as the man raised one dark brow at him. “Did you miss that memo, _Mister_ Rogers?”

“Listen here man - ”

“For the third time today already, Mister Barton, my name is Dale Schroder. It's really not that difficult a name to remember. I'm doing quite well in remembering yours.”

Clint scowled at the man and Steve pressed a tired hand to his eyes. “What memo, Mister Schroder?”

The lawyer sighed and pulled a sheaf of papers from one of the many folders he had spread in front of him and slapped it down on the table in front of Steve. The Accords had been signed already, and now they were trapped in this room with a lawyer who hated them to make sure that they understood the limitations being imposed on them.

“This one.” It was an official looking document, as they all were, but this one had the seal of the US Army on the front. Steve felt an odd sensation of dread settle on his shoulders. “You didn’t even complete basic training, Mister Rogers. The name ‘Captain America’ was a stage name. It was never an official rank. Those have to be _earned_ , not simply given at the whim of a politician. It was a publicity stunt. And it is not -” he tapped on the papers in front of Steve with his pen “- a recognised rank given to you by the US Army.”

Steve swallowed down the bile that had risen up his throat as the lawyer spoke. “Wh-who determined this?” he asked, and licked at his dry lips. “I don’t understand. Why was this not brought up when I first came out of the ice?”

“Perhaps because you weren’t an internationally wanted criminal with more warrants against your name then years you were frozen, Mister Rogers.” The lawyers words were caustic but his tone was even and almost pleasant. Steve just felt tired, and wanted to go back in time to when things were simpler.

“Alright then,” he whispered. He felt it like a physical thing as all the will to fight left him. What was left to fight for? Even from beyond the grave, Tony had won. Had torn the team apart with his Accords and driven the wedge further with his death.

“Can we move past the Accords now?” Schroder asked primly, and they all nodded. “Good. We move now to the matter of the Last Will and Testament of one Anthony Edward Stark.”

As one, the group gathered around the table all shifted and sat slightly forwards. Steve saw Schroder close his eyes for a moment, and mouth something that looked an awful lot like ‘Lord give me strength’.

“I’m not an Estate Attorney but I will be reading the parts of Mister Stark’s will that pertain to each of you. His Estate Attorney has refused to betray her former retainer. Does anyone have an objection to me handling this?” He looked around as they all shook their heads and gave a single, sharp nod. “Good. Let’s begin.”

Schroder shuffled his massive pile of papers in front of him, finally pulling free a thin, red and gold leather binder. Steve couldn’t help the little twitch of his lips at the sight of it. Schroder cleared his throat and opened the binder.

“I must advise you that you have the right to hear this in private. Would any of you prefer that?” Again, everyone shook their heads and Schroder hummed quietly. “Very well. All bequeathments have been recorded personally by Mister Stark, which his AI will play through this speaker.” He set a small black box on the table and pressed a button on the top. “Are you there, FRIDAY?”

“Certainly am, Mister Schroder!”

“Excellent. Could you please begin the will readings.” He made a note on the paper in front of him, and Steve felt _something_ settle in his stomach.

An affirmative chirp from the AI, and suddenly the room was filled with Tony’s voice. Steve felt his stomach flutter and grief washed over him at the sound of that rich, cheerful voice. He could almost hear the smirk in Tony’s voice.

_“If you’re listening to this, then I’m dead. Which is a shame. I know I’m the most handsome and most fucking incredible Aven-- ”_ There was the sound of muffled laughter, and they could hear the deeper tone of Rhodes’ voice saying something before Tony started talking again. _“Anyway. As I was saying. I’m dead, you’re not. Let’s give you stuff, yeah? It’s… it’s why you’re here after all._

_Miss Wanda Maximoff. Regardless of what you have always thought of me, I did think that you were worth something to me. You may not have liked me, and… look, I didn’t hate you, kid. You just fucking terrified me. But anyway. I bequeath to you a total sum of twenty-two point nine million dollars, a property in California and access to my wine cellar in New York. The lawyer will give you all the nitty-gritties.”_ Wanda’s mouth fell open, but Schroder held a hand up as Tony continued to talk.

_“To Clinton Barton. This isn’t for you, asshole. It’s for your kids. I bequeath to the Barton Children a total sum of thirty-five million dollars. The stipulations for this amount being received are lengthy and detailed, and are contained on a seperate form. Because I know you love paperwork.”_ Tony’s warm laugh filled the room, and Steve blinked back tears. Clint sighed and shook his head sadly.

“Goddamn it, Tony,” he muttered, a tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

Schroder asked FRIDAY to pause, and shuffled his papers about, pulling out a thin sheaf and sliding it over to Clint. “The details of your children’s inheritance are there.” He flicked through his binder, muttering to himself a moment, before he clearly found the pages he was looking for.

“Sam Wilson and Scott Lang, I’m sorry gentlemen, but neither of you are mentioned at all,” he said completely unapologetically. Scott shrugged, but Sam looked a little pissed off. Steve sighed silently and prayed for strength. “Please resume, FRIDAY dear.”

_“To James Buchanan Barnes, read out in absentia I’m guessing, I bequeath the original Sniper Rifle that my father, Howard Stark built you during the war. I hope that Steve finds you, and… and that you’re able to find yourself. I uh, I know a bit about what torture does to a man.”_

There was a very uncomfortable silence as Schroder paused the recording again, this time to sip at his glass of water. Then he looked Steve right in the eye. “One last time, do you want privacy for the reading?” Steve shook his head, and Schroder sighed heavily. “Please play Mister Rogers’, FRIDAY, and make a note that privacy was declined.” The AI beeped in agreement, and once again Tony’s voice filled the room.

_“To Steven Grant Rogers. I leave the shield my father made… and the Avengers Initiative. It’s mine, in terms of name and financial backing, but the_ **_team_ ** _was always_ **_yours_ ** _. They, well I mean, they tolerated me because I designed everything, paid for everything and made everyone look cooler.”_ Tony chuckled a bit, and took a deep breath before he started to talk again.

_“Thing is Capsicle, I know I was never a real Avenger. I know you petitioned against my status changing from consultant to full member everytime it came up. And I know that when Wanda was brought in… well. It was obvious then how little you cared about me other than what I could do for you. And even through all of that… I still thought of you as my family. You were all so important to me, even though I wasn’t to you. And you, Steve… you were like my… annoying little brother. You,_ **_all of you_ ** _, you were my family. You all meant the world to me. I just wish I’d meant more to you, too.”_

The recording cut off then, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Everyone was very pointedly not looking at each other, and especially not looking at Steve.

Schroder tapped on table with his pen, and the weird mood faded a bit. “Mister Stark was very generous. However, as this was recorded some years ago now there have been changes. The bequeathments, with the exception of the money to the Barton Children, have been denied by the two main beneficiaries and estate executors, one Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, and James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes. Mister Stark gave the two of them total legal control over the execution of his will _depending on the manner of his death_.” Schroder looked around at them all slowly, before he finished with - “And considering that he was murdered, and his body hasn’t been recovered, I think it’s safe to say that no amount of protesting will change that. The control of the Avengers Initiative was turned over to the Accords Council, and the Initiative scrapped in its entirety.” Schroder tapped his piles of papers together, put the caps back on his pens and stood, smart brown briefcase back in his hand faster than they could process his words.

“I’d say it’s been a pleasure,” Schroder said as he opened the door, “but telling the truth is my job.”

The room exploded into a cacophony of sound as the door closed with a quiet _click_ , but Steve couldn’t hear it. He was replaying Tony’s voice, so tired and resigned to the fact that his affection was one sided, as he called the team his family… and called Steve brother.

_‘I’m sorry Tony. He’s my friend.’_

_‘... So was I.’_

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

Bucky woke up slowly, the absence of pain being the first thing he noticed. Usually, being woken from cryosleep was agony. HYDRA didn’t much care if you had muscle cramps or a headache from the cold. They just pumped you full of adrenaline and protein and sent you on your mission.

“Welcome to Wakanda, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky rolled his head slowly over to the direction the gentle voice came from in confusion. “It has been almost three years since you opted to go into CryoSleep. We have not been able to remove your triggers, I am afraid, but there have been developments you need to be made aware of.”

“Wh-what’s happened?” Bucky asked slowly, his throat dry and his voice hoarse. He gratefully accepted the glass of cold water offered to him and gulped it down. Bucky let his eyes drift for a moment while he woke up completely and settled on the young woman standing beside him. She had dark skin, like cocoa, and beautiful hair styled in intricate little braids.

She was also wearing a t-shirt that said ‘ _You wish you were this awesome_ ’. Bucky liked her immediately.

“You’ve been pardoned, Sergeant Barnes,” she said softly and with a smile. “Your… teammates are back in the US already, but there were separate conditions for your return.”

He nodded, too tired and fuzzy to argue the teammates comment. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

She snorted and winked at him. “Aw! Don’t call me ma’am, please, Sergeant Barnes. Makes me feel so old. You can call me Shuri. I am T’Challa’s sister.”

“Princess Shuri?”

“Oh please, don’t. Just Shuri is fine, Barnes.”

“Bucky. You can call me Bucky,” he said with a smile and Shuri grinned back at him.

“Awesome. Now, my favourite broken white-boy. About your pardon. Here’s what you’ve gotta know, Bucky.”

“Favourite… How many broken white-boys have you _got?_ ”

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

Shuri had refused to tell him how many broken down white-boys she had in her collection, but she was nice enough to explain the terms of his pardon. He could go back to the US as a legal citizen, but he would be restricted to the compound. He would have to see a therapist three days a week, wear a tracking bracelet and be willing to offer his skillset when required.

 Or, he could go back into Cryo and wait and see. He sighed and stared back out at the Wakandan jungle, watching as an enormous bird with a rainbow of colours along it’s wingspan took off from a tree nearby. He wished he could do the same. Spread wings of a beautiful colour and just… fly away.

He’d taken the option to go home, but he’d asked if he could have a couple of conditions of his own. Shuri had told him there were no guarantees, but all he’d asked for was to not be welcomed home by a crowd.

“Too many people around me… it’s just not a good idea right now,” he’d said with a shrug and Shuri had nodded and agreed.

“We’ll fly you in at midnight, direct to the compound, alright?”

Bucky thunked his head against the window and tried not to sigh again. The sun was starting to set, which meant there was only an hour or two until he’d be sitting on a jet and flying back to the US. Back to Steve.

A man stuck in the shared past that Bucky couldn’t remember.

He rubbed his head and scratched his nails against his scalp as hard as he could. Ever since he’d broken the worst of the conditioning in Romania there’d been a feeling in his mind, something that nagged at him for his attention. But he didn’t know  _ what _ . He focused on the scratching sensation of his fingernails through his hair and breathed.

Whatever it was… he’d ask the therapist. HYDRA had done some weird shit to his brain over the decades. Maybe they’d put something in there to punish him if he ever broke free.

Or maybe it was something completely mundane and he was just being stupid.

“Bucky? Time to go.” Shuri’s voice was a welcome distraction to his thoughts, and Bucky smiled at her taking the outstretched hand. Her skin was soft and her hand was so warm and small in his. She led him easily through the palace to the hangar bay, and left him with a smile and a hug at the jet. 

“Don’t forget to text me!” She shoved a phone into his hands, kissed his cheek and waved until they were out of sight, and her friendly smile was the last thing Bucky saw of Wakanda. 

Landing at the compound felt surreal. It didn’t feel at all like coming home, or even being welcomed back. It mostly felt a lot like any other HYDRA mission. The compound had no significance to him, it wasn’t somewhere he’d ever been, or ever thought to go. But to hear Steve talk of it, before he’d decided to go back into cryo, it was better than any place else on earth – warm, welcoming and  _ home _ .

Bucky thought it looked and smelt like a hospital. It was white, bright, and sterile, chrome and steel everywhere he looked. It was cold, and he hated it.

The  _ feeling _ in his mind, the pulling and poking was getting stronger with every step into the compound he took, and Bucky tugged harshly on his ponytail to stop the crawling sensation.

“Buck!”

He turned towards the voice – still only a barely remembered sound – and waved once in greeting. He saw Steve’s steps falter, and the huge grin on his face dim, but Bucky was tired and he didn’t have the energy to care.

“They told me you were comin’! I don’t think I believed it at all till you stepped off that jet,” he said and reached out as though to pull Bucky in for a hug. Skin crawling and stomach clenching, Bucky swiftly stepped away and shrugged awkwardly. Shuri had offered him a new arm, but he’d turned it down. Losing the metal monstrosity that HYDRA had fixed him with had been a blessing. All the infection and lingering inflammation in the scarred tissue and muscle around his shoulder was finally healing thanks to the serum, and the ache in his stump was negligible.

He’d known in Romania and after too, that there was something wrong with his body where the metal arm had been attached. Could feel the burning and pulling in the joint; had cleaned the places that cracked and bled as best he could.

So he shrugged and ignored the pain it caused him, and ignored the hurt and confused look on Steve’s face.

“You alright, Bucky?” he asked him quietly, and Bucky sighed. His memories were practically shreds of paper in a river, and Steve – who he only remembered because he’d looked him up in a museum and on google – kept waiting for some magical switch to flip. For the decades of conditioning and training to disappear and all the old ‘Bucky’ that  _ he _ remembered to come back.

Bucky wasn’t sure it was ever going to come back. Steve called him Bucky and it made his skin feel suddenly too small, like he was trying to fit himself into a mold he didn’t belong in.

“Yeah, just… tired, you know?” he answered in a whisper, and froze when Steve frowned at him. “What?”

“Bucky, what… what did you say? You were speaking Russian. I-I thought they’d fixed you?”

It was like a slow slide down a slippery slope. His vision sharpened, his sense of smell and touch went to astronomical new levels and he was… standing in the background suddenly. His mouth was moving, but the words sounded like he had his head under water.

“There’s nothing to fix,” his voice said slowly, and that voice was cold,  _ so cold.  _ Like… winter. “I am not broken. I am who I am.”

_ But who am I? _ Bucky’s mind felt heavy and slow, Steve was still speaking but he couldn’t make out the words anymore. His stomach lurched as his body started moving, his feet walking away from Steve and into the compound.

_ Stop _ , he tried to say.  _ Wait!  _ But it was like he was just a passenger in his own body. He was tired, so tired now. Bucky sighed, and closed his eyes.

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

It was a relief, when the other half of him went to sleep. He had not anticipated being in control ever again, so he made sure to nod politely and listen to the woman with the pretty purple hair as she led him through the compound, pointing out the kitchen, the communal lounge area and, finally, his room. She opened the door, gave him a friendly smile and a keycard with his face on it and wished him a good night.

He looked around the room with an inquisitive eye. It was plain, but comfortable looking. He had a soft looking king sized bed in the middle, large floor to ceiling window all along the back wall and a desk, armchair and dresser. A moment’s investigating found the lights dimmed and brightened on command and the blinds on the window worked the same. Curious again, he moved forward and traced a careful hand over the mirror, testing to make sure it was a real mirror, feeling pleased when it passed his test. The attached ensuite was tidy and done in tasteful shades of navy and silver.

The Soldier looked at it all and he smiled to himself. No doubt the large blond pain in his ass would want to pressure poor Bucky into conversation tomorrow, but for now, he could keep them safe in this wonderful room.

There was a folded piece of paper and a large black leather case sitting on his bed, and the Soldier moved towards it with an interested hum.

_ ‘Sergeant Barnes, this was left to you by Tony. –P. Potts’ _

Interesting… A quick flick of the latches on the case had the lid springing open. Inside, nestled on a bed of red and gold velvet, was a somewhat familiar sniper rifle. He ran his hand over it slowly – it felt cold, like snow, and blood and pain.

The Soldier snapped the lid shut and placed the case on top of the dresser. He rummaged about in the desk drawer for a pen, and scribbled a note of his own on the back of the paper from ‘P. Potts’. Satisfied, he shed his clothes and slipped naked under the blankets of the bed.

They were softer than anything he could ever remember being allowed to touch, and so very warm. The Soldier wished briefly for a gun to grip beneath his pillow, but sighed and closed his eyes instead.

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

Bucky woke naked and confused to the sound of someone hammering at the door. The sun was up – that much was obvious from the strips of sunlight streaming into the room from between the half-closed blinds – but he had no idea where he was.

_ “BUCKY! You gotta get up, there’s – something’s happened!”  _ Steve. Of course it was Steve.

He rolled out of the soft bed and rubbed a hand blearily over his face. “Yeah, a’right,” he called back. “Let me just… put my pants on, yeah?”

“Hurry up!”

Bucky flipped the closed door off and made a beeline to the bathroom. Whatever catastrophe was happening, it could wait till after he’d pissed at the least. He washed his hands when he was done, taking a moment to splash icy water on his face and try to wake up. It felt almost like he’d been asleep for  _ days _ . He wasn’t well-rested, but he felt… better. Like something that had been missing was falling back into place.

The dresser was filled with clothes – shirts and sweaters so soft he hesitated to touch them – and more practical things like boxers, and socks. A quick rummage produced a pair of comfortable looking black sweats and he tugged them on. An incredibly soft and cozy sweater went on next, and Bucky tucked the empty sleeve into the waistband of the sweats so it wasn’t flapping around.

There was a note sitting on top of a large, leather case on the dresser, but Steve was hammering and hollering again. So he slipped the note into his pocket and walked to the door. Being barefoot was a novelty to him, and he planned to keep his shoes off as often as possible. The carpet was so plush and soft under his toes, the wood near the door wonderfully cold and firm. All these different textures and feelings made Bucky feel more grounded. More  _ there _ .

He flung open the door and ducked to avoid the fist swinging towards him. Steve froze with his hand right above Bucky’s head and grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry Buck. But it’s big,” he said hurriedly, and dragged Bucky out by the wrist. He repressed the urge to snap Steve’s fingers off his arm – barely – and followed him out to what he assumed was a communal lounge. The rest of the ‘team’ was gathered there, and none of them looked as though they’d slept well.

“So what’s the big, huge news that couldn’t even wait till I had pants on?” Bucky asked as he took his seat on the couch. He made sure that no part of him was touching Steve, and was relieved when the blond took the hint and sat with a few inches between them.

“There’s been… there’s been a murder,” Steve said quietly, and Sam snorted.

“It wasn’t a murder,” he spat. “It was a goddamned assassination. And it was fucking brutal, man.” 

“So?” Bucky asked and smirked at the appalled look the little witch gave him.

_ ‘She is HYDRA…’ _ a thought that wasn’t his drifted through his mind as he stared at her, and Bucky jumped a little in his seat.  _ ‘Do not trust her.’ _

“… - and then they said he was dead. And there’s video, Buck, and it’s – it’s so  _ brutal _ ,” Steve was saying. Bucky just nodded and turned his attention to the TV.

The news was showing the same segment of video over and over again. There was a man standing at a podium who looked vaguely familiar to Bucky. He was a large man in a navy suit, his white hair styled neatly and an angry scowl on his face. A banner behind him read ‘M.R.A IS WHAT THE PEOPLE NEED’ and he was gesticulating heavily as he spoke. Then, suddenly, his head became nothing more than pixels and exploded in a shower of red.

“Who was that, and what’s the MRA?” he asked Steve quietly, as the man’s chest exploded outwards next and the crowd began to scream.

“The MRA is the Mutant Registration Act, and that was Thaddeus Ross,” he replied, voice quiet and his head tipped towards Bucky’s. “He’s the one who had Tony come to arrest us.”

“So why is it a big deal that he’s dead? Don’t see how it bothers me.”

Steve sighed. “Because… because of who killed him, Buck. HYDRA has come forward, said it was their newest weapon’s first public mission.” Bucky felt a familiar cold dread settle over him. “They call him their  _ Technician. _ ”

**//** **RtC** **\\\**

“Are you online?”

_ EXTREMIS:// Engage_Protocol_ONE>Online>Loading/Server_accessed>TECHNICIAN//:ProgramRun.  _

**_“Technician is online, Sir. Usual parameters are set, partitions and firewalls holding.”_ **

“Wonderful. Switch language default to English, please.”

_ Language > access > change_primary/ENGLISH. _

“It is done, Sir.”

“Good boy.”

A gentle pat to his head, and a feeling of warmth runs through his veins. This is praise. He likes to be praised. There is a tiny place inside of him that is so needy of praise and affection. He is thankful Sir will often give it to him.

“We have a mission for you. If you do a very good job, you will be allowed twenty-four hours in the lab of your choice, darling boy.” The Handler speaks with the same tone one would use with a child, but to Technician, it is comforting. It soothes his mind and stops the nagging voice that wants to be coddled and petted.  

“Technician will comply, Sir.”

“I know you will,” the Handler leads him to a screen. “This is Thaddeus Ross. He used to work for us, and thinks that he still does. He has become an unstable liability. We want you to take him out.”

“How is this to be managed, Sir?”

“You will access his servers and manipulate his security detail. We will give you the long-range rifle you created. Four shots. Two to the head, two to the chest. The Director’s special.”

Technician hummed. He liked being able to use the weapons he’d created. “Understood, Sir.”

The Handler accompanied him, as was usual. They shaved his hair, blackened his eyes with kohl and fitted his mask. The jacket was put on him, buckled and strapped into place. Weapons, and his faithful little AI drone, ACACIA.

_EXTREMIS://LINK > connection_port_open >_ _AssetControlAndContainment:ImplementAnnihilation > status > ACTIVE // LinkSecure._

“I am connected with ACACIA.” The Handler gave him a proud smile.

“Good boy, Technician. The mission is yours, now.” He sat back in their hidden vantage point and Technician nodded.

“Of course, Sir. Beginning.”

It was the work of mere moments to send a text message to the phones of the security detail from the number of their employer, sending them out to random points. He sent ACACIA out over the crowd in stealth mode. She sought out their target with ease; the man made no effort to stay by his diminished security detail. His podium was raised and open. This was going to be easy. ACACIA dropped the laser targeting node into his hair, and returned.

**_ACACIA_ ** _ – Node is active, Boss. _

**_TECHNICIAN_ ** _ – Good job. Standby. _

The text scrolling in his mind stopped and a few taps on the tablet in his lap had the laser guidance online. A moment’s work had the rifle set up and honed on the targeting.

“Target is locked, and in position, Sir. Firing,” Technician said quietly and squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession. Below him, the target’s head disintegrated into red mist and his chest imploded. “Mission is complete, Sir.”

“Very good work. Well done, darling boy,” the Handler said and scruffed a hand over Technician’s head. “Let’s go. Disconnect ACACIA and self-destruct the nodes.”

“It is already done, Sir.” 

The trip back to their base was quiet, as it always was after a mission. Technician allowed the EXTREMIS to scan him for any repairs and perform what was necessary before connecting to the server.

“Sir,” he said softly, a moment later. “There’s an anomaly in my data link with the French base server.”

His Handler looked up at him and frowned. “Report.”

Technician closed his eyes and scanned the code. He found the broken piece and followed it. “Breach in the main vault,” he said, voice quiet and monotonous. “Encrypted data found. Access attempted repeatedly. Login… tracking. Defaulting to access point language.  **_Language set now to French. Breach attempted again. Tracking. Access limited, server damaged. Sir, I have eyes in the room. German Embassy, France. I can eliminate them remotely. Awaiting orders.”_ **

“Very good, darling,” the Handler muttered, and tapped harshly on the tablet in his hands. A few moments later the screen lit up again, and he nodded. “You may eliminate the target remotely. Director requests nothing left behind. Please return to English as default language setting, and send a direct copy of your uplink to the Director and myself.”

“Language change and uploads confirmed, Sir. Proceeding.”

_ EXTREMIS://TECHNICIAN: Remote access… _ **_scanning_ ** _ …  _

_ Powergrid/Access > … granted. _

“It is completed, Sir. Technician successfully routed natural gas and a large electrical charge into the room. Contained explosion. Windows and doors all electronically sealed. Life signs, negative. Identity confirmed as Rumlow, Brock. Codename designated ‘Crossbones’.”

“I knew he was a loose cannon,” the Handler growled. But he gave Technician a very fond smile and unhooked his mask to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Well done, my perfect weapon.”

“Technician is happy to comply, Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow/screech at me on Tumblr too! :) 
> 
> @WhinyWingedWinchester


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